Unfortunate Incidents
by SnapesYukuai
Summary: When you're a Grimm and a Homicide Detective accidents do happen... Nick prefers to call them unfortunate incidents, Hank calls them... opportunities to see his boss in reluctant care bear mode. a series of more or less unrelated oneshots, shameless Nick Whump/ Sean taking care, Chapter 3: Home Remedies
1. This Prickly Feeling

Disclaimer: Grimm does not belong to me... sigh...

Summary chapter 1:

Nick, Hank and Renard meet some rather violent insect wesen... gaining a whole lot of trouble for Nick and much work for Hank and the Captain.

Unfortunate incidents:

1\. This prickly feeling:

Nick is standing in some dingy warehouse, tightly gripping a rusty rail for support and waiting for Hank and Captain Renard to return from cuffing crazy and thank God, unconscious wesen to something sturdy enough to hold them once they regain consciousness.

He would have helped but somehow he cannot bring himself to move anytime soon... or ever.

This morning all's been well...

and has been steadily going downhill from there.

They have found a good lead on a crime scene and the Captain – since he's been there anyway – tagged along once it became clear this was wesen related.

Thus the warehouse, a short but intense fight, and Nick's dilemma:

Six stingers of God knows what insect like wesen – each about index finger length – are currently sticking out of the Grimm's back where he cannot even reach to pluck them out.

Of course, they are also everything you do not want things, sticking out of your body, to be:

Poisonous (as Renard informed him neutrally before going off with Hank and reassuring them both that Nick is in no immediate danger of dying), extremely painful –jup, he can certainly attest to that one – and what makes things worse, going to be even more painful because of the poisonous part!

"These need to be pulled out as soon as possible."

Nick jumps in surprise, whirls around. He has not noticed the man approaching and glares at his Captain for being a sneaky bastard and for making him move when it hurts like hell to do so! Apparently Hank is still out doing whatever their boss has ordered him to do.

"Do you have to startle me like this? But hey, if I die from shock I won't have a problem with poisoning anymore."

His zauberbiest Captain just raises an eyebrow at this.

"Will you let me have a look at your back now?" Nick hesitates briefly. Technically they are still in a state of barely trusting each other but Nick's options are limited to say the least. Because, let's face it, Hank doesn't know a thing about what they have faced, Nick himself has not yet seen a wesen like this in his books and that leaves the Captain as his only source of information.

With a small sigh – as if steeling himself – he turns his back toward the other man. Nick bites his lip to keep from making a sound when Renard steps up closely behind him and carefully rips open his shirt where stingers went through fabric.

 _Ou, ouch, uuh... that hurts!_

Slightly calloused fingertips touch reddened, abused skin, prod the slightest bit...

 _Arrrgh, PAIN!_

His Detective instantly recoils from his touch, emitting a low, most likely unintended moan of discomfort. He doesn't turn away from him, though, or steps away, just looks over his shoulder less than pleased.

 _Interesting._

"These definitely need to be pulled out." Sean repeats his earlier assessment completely unfazed by another black glare the Grimm sends his way.

"Knowing how much it hurt when you barely even touched my skin I'm sooo looking forward to...!"

Renard's hand shoots out before Nick can even begin to comprehend and pulls out the top most thorn – all with the speed of something inhuman and the precision of a surgeon.

 _Hell! Scratch pain... A FUCKING WHOLE LOT OF PAIN!_

The next thing Nick knows is that he's on the floor – on his knees and barely holding up – after his legs haven given way from sheer pain. If he could have breathed, he would have cursed colourfully. As it is, trying not to faint is taking up all of his energy. Well, he can murder his superior officer with his eyes even while catching his breath so that has to do it for now.

"I think you should sit down for this. It will only get worse the longer we wait."

"Okay, okay. Just give... me a damn minute to get up."

"I'll even give you a hand up."

"Oh that's so _very_ nice of you", Nick hisses snarkily but takes the hand Renard holds out to him. At some point Hank has returned and eyes his boss and his partner with barely concealed amusement.

"I'm your Captain, I'm meant to be supportive."

"How come then, that you are not?"

"I'm preventing you from being further poisoned. I'm quite sure that constitutes supportiveness." Nick only snorts at this.

Actions totally belying exchanged barbs, the Captain leads his Detective to an old storage box – grip on his upper arm tight and his stance more than a bit protective. Even more protective than either of them realises, Hank thinks, as he observes their slow progress through the room. Nick can barely move – not without suffering great pain, anyway – and by the looks of it, he's feeling more than a bit woozy. Their boss seems to know this and thus, watches every move of his Grimm like a hawk (or mother hawk if anyone were to ask Hank for assessment).

As Nick is finally instilled sitting on the box Hank takes that as his cue to announce his presence:

"Nick, play nice. The Captain is just trying to help and you are behaving like a toddler."

"So not doing that."

His younger partner mumbles while giving his zauberbiest Captain reluctant access to his back. He even leans forward a bit, elbows resting on his thighs. Renard and Hank exchange looks that literally go over Nick's head before the Royal proceeds to pluck out those very irksome stingers. If their local Grimm howls in pain once or twice during it all nobody mentions it.

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

Afterwards Nick is not entirely sure if maybe he's passed out sometime during the whole ordeal but he knows – and oh how that smarts to admit – that Renard's firm grip on his left shoulder is about the only thing keeping him sitting on the rickety box.

"Now that we're past this, the wounds need to be washed out." It takes a bit for the words to register in his mind but when they do, Nick can only groan loudly.

"You just like to torture this insolent, cocky Grimm, who's had the audacity to settle down in your canton and still not follow you every order!"

"Now that you mention it..." The Prince deadpans dispassionately but his smirk could rival the devil's.

"Well, will you let me do it?" Hank is sure neither of them is aware but despite their difference in power Captain Renard asks for permission every time he's about to enter Nick's personal space and comfort zone.

"By all means, do it."

Sean turns to Hank then.

"Can you go and find out, if there are any pipes in the building still producing water?"

"Sure thing, Captain."

And with that Hank goes off in search of something even remotely resembling clear water. While Nick shoots his superior confused and slightly peevish looks, Sean waits patiently for him to finally spit out the question he obviously has.

"Why did you ask me, if I was okay with you washing out the wounds, when you didn't even know there was water to begin with?"

"No sense having Hank fetch water, if you refuse to let me use it." He replies with an untypical one sided shrug.

"No problem. If it isn't necessary after all, I'm all for skipping this whole cleaning business, you know?"

"Believe me, it is." There's enough seriousness in the Royal's smooth voice for Nick to take him at face value but still...

"Then why did you ask in the first place? Argh! Okay, I admit defeat! I'm officially out of this one. Do what you want, just make sure I don't die along the way." Nick shakes his head in bewilderment making the smallest of smiles appear on Renard's aquiline features.

"Anything important happened? Why did Nick say he's out?" Hank queries while carrying a bucket full of water into the room.

"Oh, he meant that literally."

"How so?"

"He's going to pass out in..." The tall man gazes at his wrist watch. "... a quarter of an hour if my estimation is correct." The Grimm and the royal bastard exchange a long neutral look, for once completely understanding each other.

"And despite behaving like a toddler and exchanging snark with me he knows this very well. Thus, him saying he's out."

"Oh, okay."

" _So_ not doing that", Nick slurs from his spot on the box. Hank laughs, gazing fondly at his partner.

"Not doing what, acting like a toddler or passing out?" Nick only grumbles something unintelligible, which the Captain takes as his cue to take the bucket from Hank.

"Actually I'm not sure this will make it any better" Hank tells his boss in a stage whisper.

"At least I waited until it turned from murky brown to clear but other than that I'm not sure."

"It will have to do." The Grimm gives off a last "Errgh!" at Hank's admission before giving himself over to the mercy of his 'caretakers'. Later he's not sure if he's fainted before or after Renard has started to wipe out his wounds with semi clean water and a handkerchief but he remembers well a feeling of foreboding when the tall man steps up behind him to begin his work.

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

When he wakes up it is on his couch. He's instantly sure it's _his_ couch because after that whole Juliette memory loss disaster he's more familiar with this piece of furniture than he's ever wanted to be. Hank lounges in an armchair, beer in hand, looking quite comfy.

"Good to know you're not wanting for anything." Nick's voice is gravelly from disuse – and maybe from screaming a few times while Renard has tortured... errr... patched him up. He rubs sleep from his eyes and makes a first attempt at sitting up, _real_ slow. Doing so is painful but not as bad as moving was before. There are also bandages wrapped around his shoulder and torso.

Hank gives a huff of laughter at his remark but generally just looks relieved that his partner is awake and reasonably well again.

"Sorry, buddy. You were not 'here' to ask, you know? So what's a guy to do?"

"I would offer you one, but the Cap' left me with detailed instructions for your care, so sorry, alcohol is a big no-no."

At first Hank holds the second bottle of microbrew out of reach but a truly fearsome (which translates to pity inducing puppy Grimm eyed) stare takes care of that.

"That sounds way too much like an extract from 'How-to-take-care-of-your-pet-Grimm-Monthly'." Nick is clever enough not to lean back into the couch. That wouldn't go over well giving how battered his back is right now.

"And anyway, since when is our Captain an expert on wesen illnesses and cures, ... apart from being haft-zauberbiest and generally the villainous type?" He grins bemusedly and takes a nice long swig from his beer.

"I heard this, Detective." Nick spews his microbrew all over the table as Renard steps into the room.

"Captain!"

"And don't even think about drinking the rest of that. As Hank apparently cannot be trusted to hold you up to follow my instructions, it seems I have to stay overnight." The tall man heaves a silent sigh before pinning both of his detectives with a stern glare. Only when they look down like chastised schoolboys and Nick puts the full bottle away does their zauberbiest Captain retire to the second armchair with a book in hand.

"Should I have mentioned he's still here?"

"I don't know, _maybe_?!" Hank ignores the heavy sarcasm with practised ease while Nick ignores his big teasing grin with the same practice.

"And, Sir, is this _my_ crime novel you are reading there?"

The man slowly looks up with what Nick can only describe as completely infuriating royal aloofness.

"What an astute observation, Detective. I'm impressed. And now, lie back down and get a good night's sleep. Of course, if you want to feel heavily hung over tomorrow, you are free to ignore me."

"If you knew this couch you wouldn't call it a good night's sleep but if you insist... who am I to disobey the ruler of this canton?" Finally a mischievous gleam has re-entered Nick's eyes.

Shaking his head in exasperation Sean lowers his gaze back to 'his' book.

"Impudent Grimm... should have tortured him after all."

Those last muttered words have Nick scowling and Hank chortling with laughter.

"You already did this so there's no 'should have'."

"Really? Last time I checked torture didn't include health benefits for the victim."

Before Nick can respond to that one, Hank speaks up:

"Well, now that you're all set for the night, I'm off. Have a nice evening." He makes a hasty retreat before Nick can voice any of his no doubt colourful protests.

Sean smirks inwardly. All in all the day has been more enjoyable than he's expected:

A bit of outdoor activity as opposed to meetings and paperwork, torturing, teasing and saving his Grimm Detective, generally scaring the shit out of his subordinates... yes, quite enjoyable.

When he looks back up from his novel some time later he finds Nick sprawled out on the sofa – lying half on his stomach to keep weight off his back – deeply asleep and ostensibly quite content to rest while his villainous Captain watches over him.


	2. Hop Along 1

Disclaimer: This isn't mine.

Summary:

Sometimes field work just sucks. It could have been so easy... if not for another unfortunate incident.

What can I say, here are sprained ankles and serious talk about bunnies! ;)

Characters featuring:

Nick Burckhardt  
Sean Renard

Chapter warnings:

cursing

Hop Along 1:

Their plan is destined to succeed, its outline clear and easy to follow. After hearing Wu's report on a second victim and having a look at the crime scene, Nick calls Hank and they discuss plans. Still on crutches and thus not able to brave muddy hellish forest roads Hank will begin to interview witnesses and possible suspects while Nick and the Captain will revisit the place where their first victim has been found.

Wu drives back to precinct while Nick takes a ride with Renard. So far so good. Luck begins to run out when they get to a point where even Renard's powerful SUV cannot pass the muddy thing that once has been called a forest track. They are about 3 miles from their destination but they are nothing if not determined.

"Up for a hike?"

The Captain raises an elegant eyebrow in challenge as he turns to look at his Grimm.

"Always. But are you, Sir? No offence, but you are the one who usually does the talking and politics... not this..."

The Grimm Detective makes a sweeping gesture encompassing all of that muddy track of hell in front of them.

"Careful, Detective. You might be surprised."

"Or maybe not. Hank and I have seen you in gym a few weeks ago... I think I believe you when you say you're ready."

With a lopsided grin Nick exits the car and leads the way toward their destination.

It could have been so easy...

If it hadn't been for what happens half an hour later:

Nick is completely focused on his task of searching in a group of bushes for a similar token like they have found near the second victim. It's been left there deliberately and looks to be some kind of message, which leads them to search for a similar one here. Nothing has been found the first time forensics searched the place but then again it's been raining for ten days straight and maybe they've simply missed it before. Now that they know what they are looking for the situation presents itself quite differently.

Thus, Nick is practically crawling through greenery, gaze pinned to the ground and otherwise oblivious to his surroundings. Even when Renard cautions him that right after that line of bushes follows a steep slope he doesn't react.

Well, what can he say, accidents _do_ happen. While the zauberbiest Prince is searching another part of the crime scene Nick goes farther and farther...

Until he loses his footing when the ground suddenly drops down into a great ditch and the hardened Grimm rolls ass over heels down said slope! His sudden descend comes as such a shock that he cannot even make a sound as he tumbles down.

Finally coming to a stop he sits up and shakes his head a bit dazedly.

 _Damn! Where have I landed?! And who in their right mind thought it funny to place a frickin' ditch right behind some bushes?_

There are leaves everywhere – in his hair, plastered to his face – simply everywhere! Surprisingly little mud, though, considering the general state of things.

He looks around to orientate himself and cannot help the full out grin of triumph when he notices a colourful tin box just barely visible from under another bush.

Things could have been really good, you know? Nick has found what they are searching for, he's relatively unscathed...

... Or so he thinks until he tries to put weight onto his right foot. He barely represses a colourful curse as he crashes back down to the ground, ankle throbbing heavy as hell!

 _Of course Nick, that's what happens to cocky little Grimms who tease their boss with comments about being unfit for field work!_

He completely ignores the fact that the voice in his head sounds eerily like to Monroe.

Well, he's left with two options now:

1\. He gives a shout to his Captain, who for once doesn't seem to be aware of what's going on, let's his boss help and possibly berate (worst case) or mercilessly tease him (not really best case either).

2\. He grits his teeth, grimms up and goes on despite an obviously sprained ankle.

Nick considers that for a moment, looks from the tin box in his hand to his right ankle... and decides he doesn't need to tell his Captain, after all.

 _Track roads are all muddy and soft, anyway, I've been through a lot worse (always a valid excuse) and hey, what are 3 three miles, anyway? Come on, Nick, how bad can it be?_

Very bad as Nick will soon notice!

Somehow he manages to climb back up that slope _and_ hide his discomfort from Portland's bastard Prince. He even endures Renard's sarcastic remark about Nick's state of appearance in good humour.

And finally, when he shows Renard his find and the man is as fascinated as he is, he's able to forget the crazy throbbing of his ankle for some time.

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

Now, two miles walking later forgetting about that pain – keeping it from showing on his face – seems an insurmountable task. He's walking, no, limping behind the taller man, conscious to keep away from that observant gaze if he can help it.

"Nick, what is the matter?" The Captain's smooth voice cuts through the silence that has descended over the odd pair.

"What?!" Nick's head whips up, caught off guard. For at least half a mile he's been plodding on, keeping his eyes to the ground, just focusing on setting one foot in front of the other.

"I asked you, what is the matter? I noticed something was off quite some time ago and wondered when you would say something."

Nick averts his gaze in embarrassment before he can stop himself, face regaining a little colour as he blushes at being found out.

"Is it so obvious?" For a moment Sean lets him stew, pins him with a stern disapproving frown.

"Actually no, but your response just cleared away my last doubts."

The Grimm groans in frustration. It is more than a little embarrassing that the Captain managed to fool him with such an easy trick. Renard chuckles quietly.

"May it be that you are in too much pain to use your otherwise impeccable acting skills?"

When Nick looks up again Renard is standing in front of him, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, putting his unfair advantage in height to good use. Green eyes lock with his own.

And suddenly the normally unflappable Grimm finds himself entrapped by that sharp gaze, by those watchful, intelligent eyes.

"Maybe you should consider telling me exactly what happened earlier while we go on."

It is a difficult decision to make, not least because of a fair bit of hurt pride. Oh, well.

 _Might as well lay the cards on the table._

Nick does not give in to pain easily. On the contrary, in his years as homicide Detective and Grimm he has developed an uncommonly high pain tolerance, but after an hour of stomping through mud (which is not in the least soft but rather bitchy because it pulls at your injured ankle every time you take a step) even he is at his rope's end.

"I would rather not... continue walking right now, that is."

This time he makes eye contact with his zauberbiest Captain deliberately. He knows that his attempt at hiding an injury out of pride backfired spectacularly but he'll face his Captain's judgement without fuss. If he's done something wrong (and has gotten over his own pride and hotheadedness) he stands by his actions and answers for them.

Renard seems to be aware of his inner struggle for he waits patiently for his Grimm to come around.

"To make it short: I tumbled down a slope, twisted my ankle, didn't say anything and most likely made it worse in the process."

"Was it, by any chance, the steep slope I explicitly warned you about?"

"You gave a warning? I didn't hear one..." He trails off, honest confusion on his face. Renard actually groans at that.

"Honestly, if you are focused on a task there's no distracting you... even by issuing words of caution."

"Well, ... Juliette once told me she finds it adorable."

He says that as if it's a valid excuse.

"Yes. And I am sure she would have told you a lot more if it made her get the good looking guy." The zauberbiest's distinguished tones drip with a whole lot of derision and a small bit of teasing. Nick cocks his head to the side.

"I'm not sure, Captain, but I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."

"I'm _very_ sure, that you must have imagined that." His angular face is set in seriousness but even Renard cannot hide a mischievous spark lighting his eyes.

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

The Captain has slung Nick's arm around his broad shoulders to take some weight off Nick's foot and support him while they walk. To do so, though, he has to stoop quite a bit, which makes the Grimm's gut twist slightly with guilt.

"Are you sure you won't get a crick in your neck doing that?"

"No I am not. And now that you are mentioning it, your lack of height _is_ a bit inconsiderate." Sean deadpans and continues on as if they have never spoken.

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

It's some time later and honestly, Nick has never been happier to sit on the edge of a car boot! He leans his head back against the metal framework; eyes squeezed shut, grimacing.

When Renard carefully rotates his foot to test if anything is seriously damaged, he inhales sharply.

"It's swollen to nearly twice its size but as far I can see nothing else is wrong."

"You have many hidden talents I see." Nick attempts to tease but with his voice hoarse as it is it comes out rather tired. Renard humours him none the less or maybe especially because he is aware of Nick's pain.

"Then let's see, if my hidden talents extend to bandaging a sprained ankle or if it will look like I simply wanted to tie you to something sturdy. Nobody would question me on that after what you pulled off once out of my sight for a moment."

Nick gives a breathless laugh.

"At least _that's_ something a long standing police officer should be able to do. Although that's no reason to actually tie me down..."

He throws the other man a mock suspicious glare before focusing on those large elegant hands as they wind round after round of white gauze around his ankle.

Tying the loose ends of the bandage Renard prompts his Grimm to move with a jerk of his head.

"Hop along, Detective." Nick looks at him incredulous.

"This, Captain, sounds so totally like some children's dance show! Please, next time you say that, wear a bunny costume... lends it more credibility, you know?"

With 6 ft 4' of a pissed zauberbiest glaring at his back Nick proves that he can hop quite fast on one leg as he makes his way to the passenger's seat. The Grimm knows one thing: Even wearing a pink life size bunny costume Captain Sean Renard could kill you with a single black stare!

"Oh, and Nick..."

"Yeees?" He draws the word out comically, slowly turning from where he's standing with his hand already gripping the handle of the passenger door.

"I hope you are aware that you are on desk and paper work duty for the next month."

 _Damn it. And here I hoped he had forgotten about that._

GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM

Another bad day for Nick... or maybe not... he's passed the day with his Captain, after all.

That said, I hope their more teasing relationship (not slash... sadly) still is in character enough. I try to find a line somewhere between their normal behaviour in the series and a more humorous side...

By the way, if anyone has a wish of what he/ she would like to see in future chapters, please text me, I'm always open to suggestions. ; )


	3. Home Remedies

Chapter summary:

When you are sick, you should call in for sick leave instead of lying your merry way around it, otherwise you may face problems you are not prepared to deal with.  
Or put differently: Nick's sick weekend with his Captain

Characters: Nick, Renard, Hank

Home remedies:

Nick is sitting on his couch, thick scarf wrapped around his neck, feeling generally wretched. He is on sick leave – well, officially he just called in for a free day but that are technicalities.

One might ask why he hasn't simply called in sick at work instead of asking for a day off to 'finally sort through his belongings after his break up with Juliette.

The answer is easy:

For one Nick doesn't want Hank and Renard to make a fuss – for surely the Captain wouldn't leave it at a day, if he were to see how bad his Grimm Detective looked right now – and Hank would be mother-henning him no matter how inconspicuous he tries to be about it. Secondly he doesn't want to be a bother to the others. It's been only two months since he has been zombified, since he has killed a man and since he's been saved by the combined effort of his friends (a group which surprisingly includes Renard by now).

He heaves a weary sigh, feeling like crap for more reasons than an achy throat.

Anyway, that's no reason to whine! Nick steels himself into not requesting more than one day off. It's bad enough leaving Hank with all that paper work. At least they don't have an active case right now, so Nick's free day doesn't interfere too much with his work life. This in turn means no questions.

So far so good. If it hadn't been for his throat feeling stuffed with something sharp and painful Nick wouldn't really be concerned.

He has never been one to get sick, even before coming into his Grimm powers, but it seems there's a first time for everything.

Damn his luck!

At that moment his phone rings loud and clear, making his head pound in sync with its ring tone. He grabs it and stares at the name on display:

 _The Captain?_

"Burckhardt?"

"Detective. Sorry to disturb you on your free day, but I'm afraid I have to make a request."

"Umm okay, what is it?"

He tries his best to keep from croaking... easier said than done. Damn!

"I wouldn't ask, but I am short on officers not swamped in cases. As it is there is a congress in city hall tonight and my original personal called in sick so I need someone to stand guard over the event. Hank already agreed to help out so you would be in good company."

That simple request throws Nick right into a dilemma. He cannot say that he's ill, because that would uncover his earlier lie but also he cannot refuse to help on principle. The reason for not telling anyone about being sick to _spare_ them trouble not to give them more!

"Nick?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Sure, I can help out. I'll be finished sorting by tonight and mostly likely glad for a change of scenery by then, so yeah, no problem."

"Thank you, Detective." Renard does sound profoundly relieved.

"Is uniform required or can I come dressed as I usually do?"

A chuckle at the other end of the line.

"If by that you mean wearing one of your tight fitting, long sleeved shirts, that will surely garner attention of some of the notorious elderly ladies attending but sadly be unfitting of the occasion, then no, casual clothes won't do. A suit will be fine, though."

The hardened Grimm blushes fiercely, clearing his throat before answering:

"I wasn't aware that you are keeping such a close eye on what effect I have on the female population above the age of 60 but isn't it reassuring to know that you care, Captain?"

Managing to discuss the particulars of the evening without more teasing is a major progress, although Nick has to admit that this short conversation with Renard has made him feel a whole lot better... even in prospect of doing police work on top of being ill and having to hide the fact.

GRIMM GRIMM

Wearing a simple but elegant black suit Nick waits for the Captain to open his front door. When he does – impeccably dressed as always – the Grimm gives a lopsided grin.

"Your driver for the evening has arrived, Sir."

His voice is a low murmur but fortunately that can be written off as mock deference befitting his role as 'driver and guard'.

"Detective." Renard inclines his head (or maybe he just has to look down upon Nick thanks to him being smaller) before half turning toward someone standing behind him and gesturing for that person to come forward with an elegant gesture of his hand.

"This is Eclesius Lampert, he will accompany me to the congress this evening. I trust you will keep him safe throughout."

"Of course, Sir, I'll do my best." His gives a half smile inclining his head in greeting.

The man in question must surely have reached Methusalahic age, white shock of hair on his head and an intricately carved cane aiding his steps. There's no doubt of a clever mind, though, for his eyes gleam with sharp intellect as much as good natured mirth. Nick instantly likes him as does the Captain, apparently, for he looks much less aloof than he normally does around men like these.

"Oh, don't worry, Detective, I find that these days I'm not particularly prone to running off suddenly. It should be fairly easy to keep track of me."

Nick gives a surprised laugh (and has to work damn hard not to groan in pain when his sore throat protests somewhat sharply).

"That's good to know, Sir. For a moment I was worried."

If his voice sounds slightly hoarse by now no one comments on it.

"Shall we, gentlemen? Being fashionably late is one thing, missing the entire event is another."

"Not that it would be a great shame to miss it."

"No, it wouldn't be but sadly no one asks for our opinion."

"Sean, my dear boy, what a delightful thought that would be... to have all those stuffy headed politicians actually head our advice."

With that they depart for the car, Nick towing after them.

He thinks, while wondering if his throat attempts to end his life by committing suicide and pulling him along, that all this has been worth it, if that means hearing someone call his 6'4 unflappable zauberbiest Captain 'my dear boy'!

GRIMM GRIMM

While in the car Sean contemplates his Detective.

Something is off about him, though he cannot place his finger on what exactly it is. He looks pale for sure and his voice is more gravelly than normal but that might just be stress from going through things he and his fiancé took time to accumulate together over the years.

He remembers part of their earlier conversation:

"A day off, any particular reason?"

"Yes... and no... I guess I just should sort through all those boxes Juliette left behind... looking what stuff is mine, what I want to keep and so on. I thought, that now that case-wise we're off rota for a few days, I could take the opportunity."

Maybe Nick needs time to work through some of his grief. That would be an explanation for him sounding rather hoarse anyway...

Still, gut feeling tells him that there's something Nick is not telling him...

He will certainly keep an eye on him tonight... as much as he will be able to what with everything else that is going on.

GRIM GRIMM

"Hey, partner."

"Hey, Hank."

There's a stretch of silence in which Nick finds himself under close scrutiny of his friend. Dark brows draw together in suspicion, forehead creasing to complete the usual expression of Hank catching on to a suspect hiding something from him.

"You didn't call in to sort through any things, did you?" He cocks his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

"Would you believe me, if I told you, that yes, I only sorted through things?" Nick doesn't even try to hide how hoarse his voice is, Hank simply knows him too well.

"Seeing that you look like you are still in zombieland and sounding like you've swallowed something that has died in some alley a long while ago, umm, no, I think not."

"Pity." Hank chuckles but worry still permeates his otherwise calm features.

"Let me take an educated guess: You couldn't refuse the Captain's request because that would have blown your cover?"

The local Grimm has the decency to blush.

"Jup. Do you want to tell me anything about possessing the inner eye? It is a bit creepy how accurate your guesses are."

"Don't want to do that, but I could tell you something about shutting your mouth in order to give your sore throat a break... Just one more thing: Did the Captain notice anything?"

Nick shakes his head with a rueful grin, not uttering a single word as per his senior partner's orders while his eyes ask, if he will tell on him. Hank sighs.

"Oh, cut the puppy dog eyes and stop worrying. Of course, I'll cover for you, partner, as long as you don't overdo it." When Hank's tone turns just this side of stern at the end Nick silently mouths 'Mother-hen' before giving a thumbs up and a shrug that clearly says:

I'll try.

GRIMM GRIMM

Of course, there just _had_ to be some crazy criminal hell bend on sabotaging the vote and of course, given Nick's dilemma, said criminal just _had_ to try escaping by running up three flights of stairs. Somehow, and Nick _really_ can't remember how exactly he did it, he even managed to shout out several standard police warnings and finally with the help of his partner arrested the man in question.

This has only one downside... okay, maybe two:

For one his throat is simply killing him and for a second, trying to keep from sounding like a tortoise with asthma while your Captain and his very old but very perceptive acquaintance congratulate you to an arrest well made is difficult as hell. Hank, who's standing right beside him but angled just so that Renard and Mr. Lampert cannot fully see his face, shoots him a compassionate look, which Nick appreciates and which somehow makes it possible to muster the strength of will to keep from moaning in pain (or coughing his lungs out for that matter).

They are mercifully left in peace when the vote finally commences, giving Nick the chance to give in to his earlier urges. His partner remains by his side – a silent sentinel guarding him – and takes him by the arm when his coughing fit threatens to take his legs out from under him.

"You really stepped deeply into the proverbial poo this time, didn't you?"

The Grimm can only nod, waiting for his eyes to stop streaming and breathing to feel less like he's already pushed his throat and lungs into that long dark tunnel with the light at the end.

GRIM GRIMM

Somehow Nick has made it back to Renard's house with him and his two-people-life-cargo still in one piece. They are saying their farewells – the youngest of the three trying to hide the decidedly sick elephant in the room – when Lampert asks, if Nick would be averse to driving him home.

"It would be my pleasure to hear a few tales told by a young, hefty Detective like you are instead of always hearing self-absorbed politicians waxing on about their achievements. This evening has been most delightful. Far better than any city hall meeting I have witnessed in a long time..." He pauses in thought.

"Except, of course, that one memorable time, when this dear man (somehow he manages to pat Renard's shoulder despite the immense height difference and Nick could swear that his Captain hunches his posture just slightly to accommodate the old man) has verbally cut that shady building contractor to pieces."

Before Nick can even contemplate a reply Renard gently (and there's simply no other word for it) cuts in:

"As gladly as I am sure Detective Burckhardt would like to oblige your request, I think we should allow him to heed home now for some rest. After all, I pulled him from his day off."

No matter how benign and genuine the man sounds (and probably even is) Nick knows one thing for sure: Renard has found out despite his careful handling, otherwise he would have never interfered with this.

It is something Nick has learned early on since working for Renard: He lets you make your own decisions, supporting his Detectives to be strong, self-thinking individuals, up to the point where he has absolutely no other choice than to force you to obey a decision made for you.

Without fuss – ever the diplomat and ostensibly on confident terms with the old man – he bundles Lampert off into a taxi before refocussing his attention on his wayward Detective. Nick has the feeling, though, that Lampert was far from played by Renard, that he knows quite a bit more than he lets on and that he let himself be 'deceived' by silent agreement.

If only _he_ could keep silent instead of answering what will surely be uncomfortable questions from his zauberbiest Captain!

GRIM GRIMM

Having Captain Sean Renard suddenly focus all of his attention, not to mention that sharp, piercing stare on you is quite impressive and creepy as hell! Nick would have swallowed thickly but even _he_ isn't that masochistic, given his current throat dilemma.

"So, when did you intent to tell me that in reality you weren't fit for doing police work and instead should have taken sick leave? And in case that needs clarifying, I talk about real sick leave, not asking to be allowed absence from work."

The sarcasm stings...

Far more than Nick is ready to admit.

"Ummm."

It's the most he can manage and it hurts like hell! Renard's dangerously narrowing eyes push Nick to speak up in his own defence, though, foolish as that may be: "I didn't notice how bad I felt until afterwards!"

That may be a half-truth at best but it is better than nothing.

Apparently the ruler of Portland doesn't think so because he snaps:

"With you already half asleep on your feet I wouldn't wager you did."

He pins Nick with stern glare.

"You know what, I have changed my mind. Considering how neglectful you have been regarding your own health when there's been no reason to be, I am not giving you the choice of leaving." Nick looks shocked.

"What... do you mean?" He blurts that out before he can think better of it and pays dearly.

 _Don't you begin to whimper now, Burckhardt! Just grimm up and get over with it. It's just a bit of pain!_

"I won't have you drive anywhere or stay at your home alone when, clearly, you have already passed the limit of what your body can take."

"Sir, really that is not necessary!" Nick is agitated by now, wants to go on persuading his Captain to let him go, but that last shout apparently was too much for his throat... or more like the _third_ 'too much' as he has clearly passed his limit quite some time ago.

There's a tickle at its back, a whole lot of pain and before he knows it he is coughing violently. Cold sweat breaks out all over his body. He can feel it at his back, making the shirt cling, at his neck and forehead.

 _Damn it!_

"Sometimes actions just speak louder than words. You are staying here tonight and that is an order."

He's manhandled into his Captain's house even while he's still fighting to keep his lungs staying where they belong.

GRIM GRIMM

Nick sits on the couch, hunched over and miserable beyond belief, when Renard returns with a big mug in his hands. It's not that at this stage Nick has the presence of mind to detect the man's near silent footsteps but he's heard him mutter about stubborn, suicidal Detectives all the way to and back from the kitchen.

"Here, drink it as long its hot." That's an order clear as day and yet the large hands wrapping his own smaller ones around the mug are gentle enough.

He doesn't even try saying thanks but simply lowers his face nearer to the steaming contents so that toasty fumes warm his aching skin. He isn't aware that he has spaced out until Renard speaks up again, voice near his ear and apparently sitting next to him on the sofa.

"I think I ordered drinking not steam bathing." The admonishment is mild this time, mindful of Nick's growing fuzziness. The Grimm only blinks owlishly. A sigh to his left and his hands are cupped once again and the mug pushed to his lips. He doesn't have much say in the matter, expects his throat to hurt from the heat of the tea alone not to mention swallowing but the pain level is surprisingly low.

He must have made some questioning sound for Renard quietly and slowly explains:

"It is a wesen remedy. Herbal tea that soothes throat ache in particular and a bit of pain in general. It seems that being a Grimm makes you respond similarly well to this as wesen do."

The Grimm only makes a vague humming sound while the Captain and bastard offspring of a royal line patiently feeds him the rest of his tea.

When after that Renard wants to wrap one of his expensive, heavenly soft cashmere scarves around his neck Nick opens his mouth to protest. Surely such a nice scarf shouldn't be sullied by his sweat and probably grime covered skin. Renard firmly renounces his protests, though, before Nick can even begin to argue and at the end he younger man is simply grateful for the added warmth around his neck.

GRIM GRIMM

Nick wakes up feeling completely wretched. If possible he's worse now than he has been before sleeping. Not that the Captain's tea hasn't helped. Actually it has relieved his aches so well that he managed to fall asleep on his bosses' couch. He cannot remember taking a blanket, though, but has a feeling who's responsible for that. Hidden by darkness a flush creeps onto already fever reddened cheeks.

 _Great Nick, not only did you practically force him to let you stay overnight, now you had him tuck you in as well._

The Grimm groans lowly at the thought only to wince when fire explodes in his throat. He forces himself not to whimper. He doesn't want to wake Renard.

For some time Nick tosses and turns on the sofa, violent shivers wrecking his body.

 _Hurts..._

His head pounds in sync with his heart, his throat is parched and feeling like he's swallowed glass shards. He cannot get back to sleep no matter how hard he tries, so after another hour he gets up from the couch – ignores a heavy dizzy spell – and pads over to one of the large floor length windows. He doesn't know what else to do, cannot bring himself to attempt drinking something: He lets his hands and forehead drop against cool glass, breath leaving him in a rush.

GRIM GRIMM

Sean goes from sleep to awareness in the space of a second. He sits up in bed, looks around, listens. Instincts honed by years on the run from his so called family warn him that something is amiss. He's dressed in less than a minute, venturing out on silent feet. His exploration leads him to the living room, where he stops in his tracks, just observing.

Nick is silhouetted by moonlight. He is leaning against one of the large windows, his head and hands the only thing touching the glass. He sways slightly on the spot while shivers make his body quiver, visible even in nearly absolute darkness. Despite this worrying picture it is the small sounds – which Nick isn't even aware of making most likely – the carefully measured but shuddering breaths that clue Sean in on his Detective's state of health. He steps up to the Grimm until only a few paces are separating them. Nick gives no indication that he has heard him approach.

 _No wonder, really. He looks like he's barely able to stand._

"Nick. What is the matter?" He keeps his tone low and soft. Still the other man starts, whirls around – sways for a moment – and gasps in surprise.

"Cap..tain!"

Nick speaks before he knows what he's doing. Pain flares again. He turns away abruptly trying to hide tears that spring to his eyes. He swallows reflexively... more pain!

 _I'm so stupid! I woke him... and now I'm nearly crying._

"Nick." There's admonishment there. He is taken by his shoulders and turned back around. Nick doesn't want to look at his Captain because he fears to find his thoughts confirmed but police training wins out.

What he sees when he locks eyes with the taller man takes him by surprise:

There's no contempt, no derision but worry and stern admonishment. An expression that means: Don't hide from me, don't lie to me.

"Nick, why are you leaning against a window in the middle of the night? And don't think I don't know that you can barely keep standing."

Silence reigns for so long that Sean nearly prompts his Grimm again but just as he opens his mouth to do so Nick speaks up... if you can call this hoarse croak that.

"Hur..ts." That one word tells Renard all he needs to know; its mere admission speaking volumes on its own.

"Come on." His tone is firm, not imperious and yet leaving no room for his Grimm to refuse. He takes Nick by the elbow, pulls him away from the window – steadies him when he sways for a moment – and leads him back to the couch. Nick is too weary to protest when he's pushed back down on it and a glass is pressed into his hands shortly after.

"Drink up. A few sips at least... you need to keep your fluid levels up."

Nick complies reluctantly. In any other situation he would have argued like the hot head he is but this is different. He's imposing himself on Renard already, no need to make it more difficult. Violent shudders again. Pain. Cold.

"Now lie down."

"Sir... no ne... ed to..."

"Quiet." The man's tone is almost gentle.

"And now do as I say. Let me see what's wrong and how I may help you."

Those calmly spoken words settle something in him. He sinks back into the cushions and his eyes slide shut as Renard carefully palpates his forehead, then the swollen lymph nodes near his jaw. Nick winces when the latter are touched, cannot help doing so, not at 2am after being in pain for hours. He opens tired eyes and squints up at the Captain. Soft moonlight illuminates his face.

"Hmm, sore throat, fever, swollen glands... cold shivers."

 _So warm wrappings it is._

His Captain looks contemplative, frowning a bit. With a nod to himself he rises from where he has squatted, somehow managing not to appear threatening despite the drastic height difference.

"Stay put. No getting up when you are barely able to stand, Detective."

Now the man _does_ put some of his height to good use. Nick doesn't react... doesn't have to. Renard can easily read him in this state. There's no rebellion there, only exhaustion and pain.

Sean sets to work in his kitchen after lighting an overhead light above the modern stove. He pulls out a jar of ointment base and different herbs from one of the upper cabinets. Sharp odours invade his senses, strengthened by zauberbiest sensitivity of smell. He grinds the herbs with practised ease before sprinkling them into the base. Cooking up the whole mixture only intensifies its smell just as it should. Some of his mother's training has obviously survived the years. He inhales deeply, a rare content smile gracing his features. This would never have been his life choice for a job but that doesn't mean he does not enjoy making one or the other remedy... or putting one to use for that matter. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't feel inclined to take care of almost anybody but as it is so often the case those rules do not apply to one Nicholas Burckhardt.

Nick listens to the sounds of his boss working. He doesn't know what Renard is doing but he can smell herbs from his place on the couch even with his aerial ways partly blocked.

 _Wonder what he's doing._

Whatever it is, now he makes his way back over to him putting down a plate, a pot and some dish towels on the low table. The clank of metal against porcelain reverberates in Nick's head. He isn't aware having made a sound until Renard speaks up in a low murmur:

"Easy, there. Soon you will feel better."

Sean spreads his slightly steaming ointment onto the width of a pristine dish towel, folds it in half length wise and takes it up. Nick's eyes, though tired, follow his every move.

"Lift your head a bit."

"Why... wha... zzit?"

Sean shakes his head in fond exasperation.

"I think we've already covered that: Quit talking and start following orders, Detective." A spark of rebellion lights fever bright eyes but soon weariness wins out and he complies.

"Good."

Sean wraps the cloth snugly around his Grimm's neck, keeping a careful eye on him to gauge his reaction. He knows exactly when the warm ointment has fully seeped through the thin fabric and touches Nick's throat. At first there's a small sound of surprise and for a moment Nick grows tense before finally he relaxes in a boneless heap.

That strong smell of herbs invades Nick's nostrils again as something warm and slightly sticky touches the skin of his neck and throat. At first he doesn't know what to make of it, anticipates pain which must surely flare up soon, then toasty warmth seeps in.

Feeling as shivery as he does this is heaven! His eyes close on their own accord, he cannot help it. Renard wraps another cloth and finally the cashmere scarf from earlier around his neck and this time Nick lets it happen without protest. After the last hours this feels wonderful.

The zauberbiest watches tension bleed out of Nick's shoulders with a certain degree of pride. This is his work. He has made the Grimm relax... alleviated some of his pain.

"You... good a' this. How come?"

"You shouldn't be talking at all but I'll make an exception this once and answer your question."

"I was taught by my mother, who was a healer."

For once the Grimm obeys, so instead of talking he just makes a face of surprise and appreciation before closing his eyes again.

GRIM GRIMM

A cold compress is already placed on Nick's forehead when at last Sean takes up a small flask. Unscrewing its cap and putting his index finger on top of the opening he flips it upside down so that a bit of its content clings to his finger and starts gently dabbing the oil onto Nick's temples.

The Grimm starts at the sudden sensation of cold! Grey eyes fly open and veer to his Captain.

"Just peppermint oil. Take a deep breath. You'll find it helps your headache."

Nick takes in a lung full of fresh minty scent. He relaxes at once. He likes peppermint... has always done so. How Renard knows he isn't sure but it helps lessen the deep ache pounding in his head.

"Go to sleep. You need it."

…

"This time I will watch over you."

Those last words are spoken in a low murmur, most likely not meant for him to hear but Renard hasn't taken Grimm hearing into account.

Those words, they are as much warning as they are a promise. He hears what the man doesn't say, cannot say, maybe:

Don't jeopardise your health again in that way. Trust me, I'll take care of everything.

It doesn't take long for his Grimm Detective to lose the battle against sleep. He's out even before Sean takes up the first and then a second woollen blanket and covers him up tightly.

GRIM GRIMM

By mid-morning – Nick safely ensconced on the couch – Sean excuses himself to take a shower and change clothes. The Grimm thinks vaguely that even if the man wouldn't do any of those things right now he would still be fit to attend a high end dinner party.

 _Maybe it's got something to do with royal blood... or maybe Renard simply isn't from this world..._

So it is with a mirthful grin that Nick waves his Captain to do that.

"Stay put, Detective."

"Will do." That's still on the croaky side of life but much better than before.

He's generally feeling much better than the night before, anyway. Renard's home remedies (there's no other ways to call them) have helped a great deal thus leaving the Grimm still puffy eyed and nosed but less on the verge of dying from throat suicide.

With the man away he looks around idly, taking in the house's interior for the first time. It looks decidedly high end but somehow Renard has managed for it not to seem braggy. It all shows wealth and class but in a quiet unobtrusive way. Nick turns another one of the big mugs around in his hands while his gaze strays to the floor length living room windows, to a fantastic view... and to three ugly smears on otherwise impeccable glass.

 _Urghh! And don't I have a feeling how those came to be there?_ He thinks with a fair bit of self-depreciating irony.

An inner struggle begins about if he should stay on the couch like the Captain said or take a rag to those smears...

Rag and smears win. He's a good Detective but nobody ever said he's the most obedient one!

GRIM GRIMM

Sean enters the main room to a peculiar squeaky sound. Next he notices the couch to be vacated. A blood vessel begins to tick somewhere above his left temple.

 _Just what is he doing?_

He steps further into the room. That squeaky sound again.

 _What the hell...?!_

"Detective Burckhardt, have the courtesy of telling me what you are _doing_ there!"

While there has been everything from gentleness to stern admonishment yesterday, there's only exasperation now.

Before now the Grimm has been calmly standing directly in front of the window, mug held in left hand while his right – adorned with a rag from the kitchen – cleans away at a small spot on the window pane. Hearing his bosses' words he whirls around, facing the man in all his red eyed, snotty nosed glory. His scarf is still wrapped tightly around his neck while his hair still looks like it's meet the wrong end of a ventilator.

To his defence, at least Nick has the decency to blush... but that maybe only an effect accompanying his next words:

"I noticed I have left... marks on the glass... last night... that's disgusting so I thought I would clean them away."

Renard steps up to him, glowering down at his from over his aquiline nose. It's a tiny bit – okay large bit – impressive that he's staring flat at the man's shirt clad chest instead of his face... Damn overly tall persons!

"No, you won't!" The rag is unceremoniously plucked from his fingers.

"Really, you are the worst sick person I know! You will not _clean_ , you will not _do the dishes_ or _cook_ , you will get back to that sofa at once and do _nothing at all!_ "

Nick opens his mouth, most likely for some flippant remark but Renard mercilessly cuts across:

" _No_ , attempts at humour are not appreciated right now!"

The Grimm closes his mouth with a snap and a pout.

"Consider yourself banned to the couch until further notice... And if I sound like a parent berating a wayward toddler, maybe you should think intensively about why that is. And now go."

Severely scolded – and touched by this man's concern more than he is able to process – Nick retreats to the couch and for the rest of his 'sick weekend with his Captain' he's a nice little patient, making for a surprisingly comfortable time for both of them.

GRIM GRIMM


	4. Bite The Bullet

**Chapter summary:**

Sometimes an unfortunate incident forces you to ask for help. And sometimes the only one you can ask is your Captain, who doesn't like sick people in general and likes taking care of one even less.

Will Nick catch a streak of luck and can Sean bring himself to actually help?

 **Characters featuring:**

Nick Burkhardt

Sean Renard

 **Author's note:**

Sorry for the very long delay! As these come out as I think them up and without a predefined goal, it may take some time in between until inspiration strikes again.  
Now it has, so what's left for me to say other than: Enjoy!

Oh, by the way, beware of a fair bit of puking featured in this chapter. Nothing too gross but regularly mentioned all the same. ;)

 **4\. Bite The Bullet:**

At 10pm Nick takes stock of his situation.

Due to a long string of cases they've been lagging behind with paperwork and while Captain Renard has been somewhat understanding, Senior Prosecutor Peverick won't be. There's one assembly of papers in particular that needs to be finished by evening today to be passed on first thing tomorrow, get processed by all parties and ultimately to be used it court. It's been a complicated case with a barrage of evidence involved. Nothing that you type up in half an hour. So with their current case finally closed, they have decided to plow through the Samson case report together and hopefully be done by evening without needing to do overtime.

Unfortunately by noon Hank has started puking his guts out – most likely some stomach bug – leading Nick to drive him home and promise to finish those papers by himself. His partner has been chagrined to leave him with the workload but Nick has assured him that he'll manage and that they're all better off with Hank safely in bed.

Well, he is done now.… Even though it's arguable if that fact applies to the paperwork or to his person. He's been so preoccupied with getting that report witten that he hasn't recognized the symptoms until it's been too late. So when he's started feeling increasingly tired, achy and weak he has attributed it to the strain of their last cases or to concentrating on the same task for hours on end. He has drunk lots of coffee, hastily crammed in a burrito round 3pm and largely tuned out his surroundings, co-workers and general station hubbub included.

At 9pm his illusion has been destroyed. Quickly and violently.

It's been like waking from a trance. Looking up, finding the bullpen completely deserted….

Paling drastically and realizing that if he doesn't make a run for it now he will be hurling into his paper bin! Thankfully he's made it to the loo in time but everything coming after that has been just gross! First bringing up a good part of what he's eaten that day, then sitting there in a boneless sprawl feeling miserable and gasping for breath. Not something he wants to repeat any time soon.

 _How is it that I haven't noticed anything before? It's not like the end results have been all that subtle._

He really must have pushed it all away in his fervor to get work done. There's no way it could have snuck up on him like that otherwise.

Getting up dizzily – stomach in painful knots and expecting to run back to the bowl right away – he's reached the sink, rinsed his mouth and slowly made his way back over to main office. He could have gone home then but at that time there had still been parts to be finished and that's what he's done.

Now he's ready to hand it all in to Renard, which brings about another dilemma.

He is leaning against the door frame leading into bullpen, has just returned from another bout of hurling. Yuck! Not at all how he's envisioned his evening. He makes to push away from the wooden frame but reconsiders quickly. Maybe he should wait just a little longer before attempting the walk. Honestly, with how weak he's feeling in the knees he's not sure he'll make it.

 _Damn it, this one's a real downer! What am I to do? I don't fancy face planting in the middle of the office but…. Those papers need to go to Renard so I'll simply need to try and see how it goes._

First goal of the way is reaching his chair safely, a semi successful endeavor that is best described by walking on eggshells while some imaginary asshole kicks him in the gut. Repeatedly.

Crashing into the seat he huffs through another near disaster, shudders at how his shirt clings to his chest and shoulders and contemplates his options. One thing is for sure, he won't be driving home under his own steam, not with how dizzy and… volcanic he is right now. He needs someone to take him home and that's where his options dwindle to nothing.

He cannot call Hank for obvious reasons and Monroe is out as well. He's on a date with Rosalee and has forbidden him to call under threat of getting mauled violently, wieder blutbad or not! Wu has left some time ago – not that he's able to remember when exactly – but he isn't to be infected, anyway, because without his organization things at precinct tend to go horribly awry. Taking a cab is also a big 'no-no'. Puking into one of those only ever produces a pricey cleaning bill and never endears you to anyone. That only leaves….

With a grimace the Grimm glances over to Renard's office, desk lamp still lit and its single occupant still in attendance.

The Captain.

The very Captain he will have to ask for a ride home because he is sick, prone to throw up at any given moment and in no state to take part in Portland traffic. If that doesn't sound appealing…?

Or not.

Nick groans quietly, embarrassment and general queasiness making for a peachy mix.

 _Come on! Man up and ask him. You need to do it and do it soon 'cos – face it – after another trip to the loo you won't be able to cross the distance to his office. Or any distance at all._

That this is all too true, he experiences upon rising. Blood is rushing in his ears and that annoying feeling of nausea is getting to a point where he honestly contemplates taking the waste bin with him. He would have done it, too, if it wouldn't upset his balance quite so much.

He groans low in his throat, disgusted at his own weakness. Okay, this ends now! He scrambles for self-control; gets his act together and tries simply plowing on like the stubborn fool some (unfairly) accuse him to be. Not going to happen. His hand wanders to his head almost on its own accord. Why has the word achy suddenly stopped being adequate to describe his pain levels?

 _To hell with it all! Whatever I do, there's no way around getting to Renard's office first. Wouldn't do to take up my desk phone, call the Captain and ask him to come over. Yeah, such a viable option. I can already imagine the icy death glare._

Case folder clutched in hand he works his way over at a snail's pace. He hates it but what's one to do when nausea is hiding just out of sight like a monster under your bed?

 _Huh, weird analogy. Bug must be affecting my ability to think. Oh great, that will make it so much easier to get through a conversation with the Captain._

In league with that dread pools in his gut in anticipation of asking his never indisposed, not the cuddly type superior to drive him home when chances are good that he'll end up throwing up in the man's Tahoe. Damn it, Renard likes that car! He may never have said so or outwardly shown it but there are gruesome tales going round about what's happened to those very few idiots, who have managed sullying or damaging it.

 _It can't be that bad._ Renard _can't be that bad. And ever since working the Volcanalis case and getting zombified we are on better footing, so get your act together and just do it!_

Apropos better footing: His legs threaten to give way so he hastens to reach the door frame to the office and pauses for another breather. While suffering through this embarrassing display of weakness he thanks God that the door is still closed and Renard wrapped up in his work.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Knocking, entering, waiting for his superior to end yet another telephone call…. It all seems to take forever and puts his self control to a severe test. At long last the man looks up.

"Nick, what…?", he trails off both eyebrows shooting to his hairline at the sight of his Detective. Rising from his chair he rounds to the front of his desk regarding him with a frown.

"Nick, what happened to you?"

Meanwhile the Grimm in question wagers that by shrugging it off he may be able to keep upright just long enough to get the important part done.

"Uhh, not important just now."

The Captain scoffs in clear skepticism and his hawk like stare zones in on the white knuckled grip Nick has on the back of the visitor chair.

"Really? Could have fooled me. You look…. Oh well, let's not go there. What can I do for you?", the cool tone leaves no room for misinterpretation. Nick is all too aware of the zauberbiest's displeasure yet there's nothing for it now. And he _is_ going to ask for help. Only... not right now. He needs to get his report handed in first and then they'll see about the other thing. He steels himself to prevail under that intense stare. Going by the man's expression he can guess only too well what thoughts Renard entertains and they aren't chummy ones either.

The Captain's thoughts are with his Grimm, indeed:

 _To say Burkhardt looks pasty would be blatant euphemism and I've never had the patience or care to use that kind of embellishment. So why beat around the bush? Nick looks like shit, more like he will keel over at any given moment than a Detective on duty. His complexion is ashen to the point of sickly green (I didn't know his skin could even take on that color), his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. And is he… swaying? That's quite a list of things but if he hasn't come to me to call in sick then why not see what he wants instead?_

Leaning against his desk and crossing his arms he keeps himself ready to act while putting on a mask of mild curiosity. Never any harm in keeping your cards close to your chest, isn't there?

"Sir, I am here… to hand in the file for the Samson case…. Senior Prosecutor Peverick wanted to have it by tomorrow morning but with our latest string... of cases we weren't able to finish it earlier."

Burkhardt sounds awfully breathless. Interesting. Maybe a little alarming.

He gives a curt nod – similarly acknowledgment and prompt – and waits to see what the Grimm will do. What he _can_ do in his state.

Nick barely represses a growl when Renard doesn't move a muscle and instead makes him move to hand the file over. And all the while that damn calculating gaze is tracking his every movement as if waiting for him to fail.

 _Good footing my ass! Is this his idea of fun?_

Oh well, Nick has never been one to back down from a challenge! He manages it by a hair's width and if the Royal knew how close Nick has come to puking on those very expensive leather shoes, then maybe he wouldn't be looking quite so satisfied now. Of course, this being Renard, only years of practice enable Nick to detect any emotion on his face at all but seeing it raises his hackles all the same.

 _What's his game? It's not even like I try hiding my sickness or am ignoring it – something I've done more often than not if one were to ask Monroe. The worrywart. It's just a matter of assigning priorities._

Of course Nick cannot know that Renard does feel a touch of worry and is well aware of his tendency to play things down, which is why he draws conclusions by watching rather than calling him out on it. The Bastard Prince has learned early on that one should always go well prepared, so that's what he does: Observing and gathering evidence before confronting the stubborn Grimm.

He leafs through the report briefly before leveling Nick an unyielding gaze that's pure commanding Officer.

"Seeing the state you are in, are you sure that this is flawless?"

He waves the case file making Nick dizzy and forcing him to grip the edge of the chair just a bit harder.

"I don't have to tell you that it can be mistakes like these – mere flaws in formalities – that allow a murderer to plead on procedural error and walk away scot-free."

Nick swallows. Renard may think it's anger. Well, it isn't. He eyes the waste bin with something akin to longing, forces another wave of nausea down and speaks in all seriousness.

"Yes Sir, I am aware and I've… made sure that it is flawless."

Gray-green orbs rest heavily on him for a moment longer – specimen under a microscope, Nick thinks – then a decisive nod.

"Very well."

Never losing focus on his Detective, the folder is put behind him on the desk.

"Now that this is done, tell me what's the matter with you, Burkhardt?"

There's no room for disobedience, the tone clearly projecting that up until now Renard has been indulging a whim and that it's going to stop now.

 _Here we go. Damn, this is going to be awkward._

Nick rubs the back of his neck, finds that even this small movement puts his bowels into turmoil and longs to clutch his stomach rather than stand erect and under his Captain's watchful stare.

"Errr, okay. I have a small problem… and I wouldn't have bothered you at all, Sir, but really I am out of options…."

„Nick." That deep drawl, clear warning to get to the point before Renard loses his patience.

 _Damn it, I'm rambling like an Officer in Training giving his first case report! Uugh, this shit is turning my brain into slush…. Don't think about brain slush…. Don't…!_

He starts talking in a rush and be it only because throwing up in the Captain's office would be more embarrassing than what he is about to ask:

"Captain, I cannot drive home but I cannot ask Hank to fetch me either 'cos he's sick with stomach flu, Monroe is on a date with Rosalee and will kill me, if I were to disturb them, Wu might get ill and a cab might get dirty, so…!"

"Nick, stop that! There's only so much rambling I can take in one day."

In retrospect and if he hadn't be hanging on by only a scrap Nick could have noticed that his summary of the problem has been somewhat lacking. Well, he _is_ barely holding up... and slightly preoccupied with not puking or collapsing... sooo who can fault him?

"Nick!"  
Renard is standing close now, imposing, tall, almost looming.

 _Huh, when has he moved over here?_

The zauberbiest's expression is stony. Displeased. Alarmed? And he has actually snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. How embarrassing.

"Detective, report! What's the nature of your problem?"

The question comes out sharp and clipped. An order clear as day. Nick complies at once, timbre and tone eliciting an automatic response from his cop brain even when capacity to think is failing him.

"I think I've come down with the same bug Hank did. I'm dizzy, heavily nauseous, … have been puking (an embarrassed grimace). Stomach cramps. I'm... (Oh, how it smarts to admit this _.)_ in quite a bit of pain. But most im... portantly, I would endanger others if I were to drive now…."

It seems this string of words has finally exhausted the Grimm's tenuous control. He takes a big gulp of air. Another one. And a third. Red rimmed eyes dart around frantically as he pales by another shade. Thankfully Sean catches on almost at once. There's just enough time to grab the waste bin and shove it at his Detective before he starts throwing up noisily, doubling over and making pitiful sounds he's not even aware of most likely. Taking hold of his upper arm, he pulls him over to the visitor chair and pushes him into it. Better be sitting down and heaving than collapsing half way through the ordeal.

"Sorry, Sir", The sick man croaks shakily when he comes back up. Sean wishes there was anyone to delegate that unpleasant task to but there's no one here, so that leaves only one course of action:

"It seems you've just won yourself a ride home."

"Brilliant."  
Renard glares, not amused at all.

"I might quit the sass if I were you, Burkhardt."

A cold drawl that makes Nick shiver. Ah yes, the high and mighty zauberbiest doesn't like being played with. He should explain himself, if he wants to remain in the good graces of the very man who is his only chance at a safe ride home.

"It isn't sass, Sir. It's the acute wish to die of embarrassment!"

And it's true. If he hadn't been pale as a ghost he would have been red as a tomato. Right now blushing only serves to make him look worse and it adds to his continued humiliation as far as the sick Grimm is concerned. He hangs his head, quite sure he doesn't want to see Renard's expression nor hear his politely veiled derision for what he surely thinks of as weakness.

Frankly he's dizzy, feeling like shit and has fought to override his misgivings one too many times already. He could do with a reprieve but so far he hasn't been in luck. And why should he expect sympathy from Renard, anyway?

"Come on, Nick. Let's get you out of here before your bowels decide to act up again. I don't fancy vomit on my office floor."

The words are callous but the tone is much more amicable than moments ago. Before he can fret about how to make it up and keep standing, he is grabbed by the upper arm yet again and hauled up.

Not such a good idea. Dizziness makes his vision swim crazily and he stumbles forward with a groan. Of course he crashes right into his powerfully built, too damn tall Captain's front, which elicits a curse from the other man and a noise that could be disgust. Every muscle of Renard's impressive frame is taut with tension, the unflappable man out of his depth and clearly uncomfortable with the contact. Yet he is held up and the body against his doesn't move an inch.

Anchor. Embarrassment. Nick wants to moan but stops himself. His head feels like glued to the fabric of Renard's no doubt expensive dress shirt. His head... sweaty and overly warm. Yuck! Nick's too dizzy to move so the zauberbiest does it for him. Pushing him at arm's length – almost gently – for once mindful of his condition. He'd better be. Renard's front is definitely in danger zone as far as expelling contents of his stomach is concerned. The man seems to know that. He's always been good at risk assessment.

"We're moving now."

An order? A heads-up to make things easier?

Nick closes his eyes as he mumbles his assent and is therefore surprised when somehow the waste bin vanishes from his hands even though the plastic bag remains there.

"Huh?" Not very eloquent but apparently getting the message across.

"Keep hold of the bag. Whatever you throw up goes in there and _only_ in there. And now, _move_."

Despite his sharp order Renard waits until he is halfway steady on his legs and keeps hold of his arm the entire way to the car, which is just about the only thing Nick cares about right now.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Renard throws a look over at his Detective. He is slumped in the passenger seat. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's panting shallowly through parted lips, chest heaving with the force of it. He's clearly very sick and at the thought of that a sliver of worry crawls up his chest. Of course there's also slight disgust at the vomiting and a good portion of exasperation at being saddled with taking care of one of his subordinates.

Nonetheless he is sitting in this car, making sure that Nick gets home in one piece, and a distant part of him even respects the younger man for finishing his job as well as asking for help in the end.

When the Grimm starts awake from his fitful doze only to double over and throw up into the plastic bag from hell, reluctant respect wars for dominance with that part of his royal self that wants to chug the other man out of his car least anything gets sullied by stray vomit.

He restrains himself. After all if there's one thing he's proficient at, it's self-control.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Nick wants to preserve what little dignity he has left, exit the Captain's car and crawl into bed or even just make himself at home over his very own private toilet bowl. His traitorous body thwarts these plans. Thoroughly. No sooner than he has left the Tahoe – under Renard's punishing stare that could either mean 'get out faster' or 'Why are you attempting to get out on your own?' - is he sprawled face down on the lawn.

"F'ck!"

 _God, how embarrassing!_

A car door opens and closes, noise reverberating painfully through his skull. The sound of footsteps on asphalt. Definitely leather shoes, their stride purposeful and heavy gait telling of a powerfully built person. Very long legs appear in his field of vision just as it all catches up to him and he groans lowly. Renard squats down beside Nick, scowl firmly in place.

"Honestly, Burkhardt? Of all the stupid things you have done, this ranks among the top. Do I even want to know what you were thinking?"

Nick doesn't want to look up and see his superior's disappointment but there are some things a well trained cop responds to without a second thought and your Captain staring you down while giving you a lecture is one of those things.  
He lifts his head and...

 _Damn, is that a smirk?! No, surely not. It's Renard. The only thing you get from him are the infamous wintry, barely there smiles No.1 to 5. Oh God, scratch embarrassment! Have I mentioned that I want the ground to swallow me whole?_

Before he can utter such a wish, strong arms slip under his armpits and he is hauled up like a rag doll.

 _Damn it! It isn't fair that Renard is as strong as Hulk and has all that paired with the looks of a Greek God and the charm of Bruce Wayne! If he sets his mind to it, anyway. Uuh, veering off topic..._

Maybe at that point Nick's brain has done all honors to its mushy state because that comparison just now has been weird to say the least and the following events are rather hazy. Really, why else would he remember walking and being steadied... or more like carried into his house by a man who's famous for keeping his distance? Why, if not for his mind making things up, would Renard ask after his GP and wave away his mumbled and numerous apologies with just enough snark to make it believable?

Violent shakes and aching almost everywhere push these thoughts away for the time being and leave him astray in a world where he's miserable and weak and wondering what the heck he has caught.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Renard watches with a mix of morbid curiosity and unrest how heavily Nick is affected by this. It seems that there are some things even Grimms are not immune to.

 _Interesting but also disconcerting. And what the hell is the matter with me, anyway?_

It's true. He may be complaining about being degraded to a Grimm's keeper, his words and handling may not be nice or overly gentle but amidst all this he's getting emotionally invested when he should be taking his leave right now. He isn't used to it, hates that someone else is influencing him to that degree and yet the shell of his composure is starting to crack.

 _Why is the Grimm affecting me so?_

Nick is feverish, weak... Pitiful really, which is something the Royal normally despises. Nick's not himself... or is he? Sean has to admit, maybe he's not all that pitiful. He's definitely still fighting. Beside misery and haziness there's that stubborn glint in his eyes. He's trying to hold himself together despite all this.

They have reached the bathroom... the toilet. Finally. Nick winces and clutches his midsection when his stomach cramps and roils again. Renard helps him down. Wordlessly, without Nick's full awareness even, if he were to guess.

For some time there's panting, fighting for control over his bowels. No use. He's bringing up bile and acid, their burn sharp in his throat and an unwelcome reminder of his humiliation. Nick wants to lie down on the cool tiles but forbids himself to give in to temptation. Not in front of Renard. He coughs weakly and – squeezing his eyes shut – balls his hands into fists in an effort to rouse himself.

Finally. A brief respite. Some measure of alertness coming back. He takes up a towel that has somehow winded up beside him to wipe his mouth. Renard must have put it there. Either very thoughtful or very intent on keeping the mess to a minimum. Most likely the second. Apropos Renard: He lets his tired gaze sweep the room and finds the Royal surprisingly close for someone abhorring disgusting things like sickness or human contact. Making his voice as steady as it will go, he tells him that he'll manage on his own from now on.

The zauberbiest could have laughed at the absurdity of Nick even considering it. He doesn't, though. Somehow it wouldn't be fair. Instead he finds himself inexplicably moving to _comfort_ the Grimm _again_ when yet another set of cramps overwhelms him.

Honestly! His hand slipping to the Grimm's forehead, supporting him while he's sitting on the tiled floor a shivering mess and his head hanging?

He hates redundancy... but:

 _What the hell is the matter with me today?! Maybe I have caught some kind of sickness as well. What other reason could there be for experiencing this irrational urge to_ care _?_

He almost shudders at the thought, barely catching himself in time to prevent it. It really wouldn't do to show being affected by this, not for a man of his standing and age.

At least Nick seems to have gotten the message that him leaving is not going to happen. He isn't necessarily comfortable with it, certainly aware enough of things to feel shame about his state. Sean takes up on it - of course he does - and this more than anything else makes room for a streak sympathy and worry as he watches him struggle.

The proud zauberbiest wants to sniff in self-disgust. Him? Caring about another human being? What has the world come to?

"God, I hate... that!", is the Grimm's scratchy but fierce assertion. Trust Nick to echo his thoughts and give him an outlet for snark before things can get too... _emotional._

"I would imagine so. It's disgusting and degrading in ways I don't even want to get into."

"Sir...", He shivers so violently that the words come out halting: "You have the... absolutely worst... bedside manner possible!"

A smirk tugs at the corners of the zauberbiest's mouth.

 _This is better._

Instead of letting the smirk bloom, Renard raises an eyebrow with exaggerated slowness and drawls: "Well, it's good that we're nowhere near a bed then, isn't it?"

Nick glowers from his slumped position.

"Really? Sarcasm... for a sick man?"

The zauberbiest scoffs, not repentant at all.

"Hah! You're one to talk. Criticism for the one keeping you upright while you're puking your guts out?"

If his complexion had any capacities to allow it, Nick would have reddened at the reminder. Nice of the Captain to point that out as soon as he's halfway able to think around pain and dizziness again.

 _Smug bastard!_

Nonetheless he finds himself grinning weakly because, no matter how snarky the high and mighty 'biest may be, he's still holding him up and still hasn't fled despite the overall grossness of the situation.

"Now do you think you can sit up on your own?"

"Huh?"  
Renard pinches the bridge of his nose, tilts his head just so. Uh, oh that stare. It spells out in bold letters: Particularly dumb specimen!

"Is this something I need to put down in my Grimm field notes? _'Suffers from diminishing eloquence when ill.'_? In case you haven't noticed, it's still _I_ keeping you upright."

It takes Nick more time to process this than he's ever likely to admit. How could he not have noticed? If this isn't some weird alternative reality then, yes, he's half leaning against his bad ass, ever distanced zauberbiest Captain.

"You have Grimm field notes? Huh. Should have expected that."

Now the Bastard Prince exudes exasperation is such bounds that even Nick's hazy brain catches on at once. Maybe he shouldn't have taken that one at face value. Who knew the Captain could make jokes. In his own snarky way. But back to matters at hand.

"I'll amend the bit about... your bedside manner. I'm surprised you haven't already... called royal henchmen to get rid of me."

It's only a low mumble and interrupted by quite a bit of swaying and panting to stave off more nausea but Nick could have sworn to have spotted a smirk somewhere in there. Exasperation appeased then.

"If only it were that simple..."

That has sounded as chummy as anything he'll ever get from his superior but, funnily, it is enough. Nick closes his eyes in the safe knowledge that Renard won't move away before he's found his balance. And true enough, that steady touch vanishes only when he's sitting upright and no longer in danger of keeling over.

Although he doesn't even know exactly what the Captain is up to, he's surprisingly okay with it. It's Renard. He's a strategic master mind (sometimes villain) and hell would be freezing over before this man came up short on plans up that hand tailored suit sleeve of his.

After an indefinable amount of time Nick forces his eyes open to find the zauberbiest leaning against the sink casually, cell at his ear and talking quietly. He cannot glean much from the conversation. After all, not even enhanced hearing gets you anywhere when your brain capacity for processing words is kinda off.

Anyway, he's looking all professional and in control as if merely handling things at work, so what's there to worry about...?

Of course, on some vaguely interested level he is wondering who Renard is calling.

 _Decontamination squat? Those royal henchmen, after all?_

At last he manages to speak and is ridiculously proud of himself for waiting until the man has actually finished the call: "What ya doin'?"

"I'm calling my personal doctor as yours can't seem to be bothered to work after hours."

Before Nick can answer his mind is sidetracked yet again by making random observations:

 _If Renard looks this focused and... Captain-y... when calling a doctor, then how does he look perusing a grocery shopping list? Like going over the latest budget plans? Like ticking off assassination targets on a blacklist?_

Belatedly he realizes that there's been something he's meant to comment on:

"You tried to reach... my doctor?"

Now there's pity all right but it's more of the disdainful kind. Nick glares back before reacquainting himself with the porcelain bowl on front of him. Renard has the decency to wait for him to come back up before drawling his answer: "What do you think? No, I didn't. You have volunteered that little tidbit of information."  
The Grimm doesn't have to spell it out to get his message across: When did I do that?!

Renard is polite enough to actually answer: "Earlier on our delightful way from my car to your bathroom. But you were more than a little out of it, I'll give you that. Anyway, Dr. Khaled will arrive soon."

"No doctor...", Nick mumbles and has to admit that being ill makes him sound rather too petulant for his 31 years of age. Renard isn't fazed. He just raises that infamous eyebrow that seems to convey a thousand things – ranging from mild curiosity over disapproval to insulting you and a whole lot of your ancestors just because he can. Other than that he doesn't butch. At all. And he moves nearer, carrying commanding presence with him like a craftsman would an often used tool.

"In case it has escaped your notice, you've been here puking your guts out without much pause or improvement, you are _still_ prone to heaving even _now_ and your circulatory system seems completely off kilter. I may not have suffered from a stomach bug all that often myself, but even I know that this goes way beyond what's considered light."

Seeing that Nick has caught only about half of what he's said, he adds slowly: "You will be examined by a doctor. End of discussion."

He's relieved to see that the last bit has made it through.

Honestly, what have his expectations on his Detectives' work performance come to?

"Will I even be able to pay his fee? I mean, not ev'rybody is an outrag'ously wealthy, exiled Prince."

The tall zauberbiest has the gall to smirk. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Nick huffs in miserable assent. Frankly, he has decided moments ago that he doesn't care all that much as long as this crap stops. Every inch of his body hurts, he's queasy and dizzy and his stomach's still roiling. He's had it with that damned stomach bug!

Hands resting heavily on his shoulders then, sitting him up straighter before moving to that by now eerily familiar position around his torso.

"Not that that's settled, up you go. Slowly. And try breathing instead of gagging for once, hmm? Yes, that's it."

 _Huh. That's been... surprisingly gentle._

He's pulled up, lead or more like carried across the hall to his bedroom and then poured into bed. He's largely given up on feeling embarrassed by now, just going with the flow. With a small moan he waits for the world to stop spinning and for his stomach to stop cramping. At least the first one happens at some indeterminable point.

"Nick, bucket beside the bed. Use it, if you need to. I'm not changing bed sheets."  
"'k."  
He doesn't know how long he's lain there – miserable and still fighting that bug from hell... maybe even having one or the other nightmare about it – before something icy cold is suddenly pressed to his neck! He gasps and jerks but the pressure and cold weight against his skin do not let up.

Has he moaned? Made a noise? Said something? He doesn't know but Renard is telling him to keep still.

"It's just a cold cloth. Don't move, just stay put. Good. Take a breath. It will help. I know what I'm doing."

And he does, apparently. Yes, there are violent shivers wracking his body but there's also a short reprieve from emitting sour bile which burns along his throat and insides. He stills under that grounding, heavy weight touch and even under that cool, commanding voice. Vaguely he wonders why he did have such difficulties obeying to that voice sometimes in the past. It's easy to follow...

His breathing evens out as he lies on his bed in a boneless sprawl. The point of icy cold never leaves his neck. It's kind of uncomfortable but before long he learns to accept it because it keeps nausea at bay.

…And because that almost disembodied voice praises him. Is he imagining things now? Renard? Praising anyone for anything than a successfully closed case? He finds that he doesn't care all that much as long as the man keeps talking. There's no room for embarrassment either, too far gone to the world he is.

"Good. Keep it up. Just like that."

No more than a deep, admittedly soothing rumble. His eyes slide shut almost on their own accord and he huffs in relief.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Nick jerks at the sound of the doorbell and instantly makes to sit up.

 _It's my house. Would only be polite to open the door..._

"Burkhardt, don't even think about it. Your only task tonight is staying still and non-eruptive. And considering what the last half an hour has been like, that is enough of a task for now."

Damn it, Renard is very good at the no nonsense, brook no bullshit tone. Even his mushy brain can follow and that says a lot.

"I'll get the door, you stay put."

To Nick's ears that sounds reassuring enough to make him sink back and close his eyes with a tired sigh.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Sean opens the door to find his long time friend, Dr. Amir Khaled, on the doorstep, case in hand and smiling slightly.

"Good evening, Sean."

"Good evening, Amir. Thank you for coming here at this late hour. It may be nothing more than a precaution but..."

"It's no trouble. Frankly I'm curious to learn who would manage to make you not only bestow any form of hands on care but also to call me?"

The wry smile and teasing spark in the doctor's eyes belies any sharpness to his words and is met by a brooding grimace that only a select few have ever seen on the Royal's face. It clearly says: 'Don't remind me.'

The two man engage in a brief hug. They are of roughly the same age and height, though the physician is of a more slender built. His wiry, subtly muscled frame speaks of good health and greater strength than one would expect at first glance. The Egyptian doctor practically exudes calm and confidence. He's resting in himself, rarely giving away all that he thinks but without that armor of distance and inscrutability Sean himself likes to display.

"Why don't I show you upstairs and we leave the rest for later."

There's an air of finality and for almost anyone else it would have been a clear warning. Well, it would have been, if they hadn't been close friends since Sean had moved to Portland as a boy and if Khaled didn't know the half-zauberbiest so well.

"Hmm. I'll accept that for sake of my potential patient's well being but don't think you have diverted my attention. I'll be sure to come back to this at a later date."

Sean chuckles somewhat darkly.

"Oh I know you will. It's this which makes you interesting and at the same time infuriating to be with. Now, however, we should get to Nick. Who knows what he's gotten up to in the 5 minutes of my absence."

Motioning for the doctor to precede him, he adds: "Oh, and don't think anything of it, if he starts spouting random things. That's normal."

"He isn't delirious, though, is he?"

"Oh no. He's tough. He may seem completely out of it just now but his observations are usually spot on."

A knowing smile curves the Egyptian's mouth.

"Too spot on for your comfort?"

The zauberbiest gives a thin lipped smile in return and inclines his head.

"Yes, on occasion too spot on for my comfort. But as I am adept at hiding what I don't want to be seen and as it makes him one of my best Detectives, who am I to complain?"

As he ushers him upstairs Sean cannot help muttering half to himself and half to his friend: "We should really go back to him now. He's a Grimm and normally has good constitution but he's also stubborn and if left to his own devices for too long he may yet decide he needs to play host and come to greet you in person... Which wouldn't go over well given his... eruptiveness."

The doctor chuckles quietly at the hint of fondness coloring his friend's tone. Sean Renard has no patience for fools but whoever that young man is, the Prince shows tolerance for his shortcomings that he has only displayed with very few people so far.

"I find that I am ever more curious to meet your Detective."

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Nick is roused from fitful slumber by the sound of quiet voices. While trying to attach actual persons to tone and timbre he forces his eyes open for seemingly the hundredth time that night. Things look bleary. Literally. His vision swims and turns at random intervals and that doesn't do anything for feeling less on the verge of throwing up whatever is left in his stomach.

Nothing most likely.

He huffs in frustration. His brain is really working at a snails pace tonight!

 _One of the voices belongs to Renard. The other...? That Dr. Khaled, maybe?_

As if on cue his Captain and the other man enter his bedroom. It's peculiar to have that happen without him being the one to lead the way or at the very least, without him being the one to retrieve his service weapon from his nightstand and waiting for an intruder to show himself.

Not going to happen tonight. Not even if it were an assassin.

He contents himself with trying to prop himself up on his elbows while squinting against the bright light suddenly illuminating the room. From the ceiling light... not some other weird crap, he reminds himself.

"Good evening, Mr. Burkhardt. No need to get up on my account. I can see you are sick and I'm here to examine and treat you, so no need for formalities."

 _He has a pleasant voice, much like the Captain's... only warmer. And he seems amicable enough. Even at this hour. Uuh... what time is it, anyway?_

He's veering off topic. Damn it.

Nick's still undecided. If there's one thing Aunt Marie has instilled in him, it's good manners and just plopping down on the bed again seems awfully impolite. On some level he notices that his arms tremble with the effort of holding him up and that he should really lie down but as mentioned before, his brain isn't at its quickest right now.

 _And it wouldn't be polite..._

"Burkhardt, down now. That's an order and not up for discussion!"

Seems Renard doesn't have any such qualms. Those words echo painfully through his head and that decides him in the end.

From his place sprawled on the big bed Nick sees the other man approaching. He has that kind of features that instantly inspire trust. Renard for his part wordlessly retreats to a spot near the window in true villainous fashion. He would have laughed but he's busy trying not to puke and that takes up all his energy.

"I am Dr. Amir Khaled. If it is okay for you, I will examine you now to make sure this is, indeed, only a nasty stomach bug and not something more serious."

Nick nods his understanding. When watching the older man tidbits of information present themselves without conscious effort on his part:

A man in his forties, skin tone a shade darker than the Captain's, hair shortish with a hint of curls. Intelligent and watchful dark brown eyes. They take in his overall appearance and, if Nick's hunch is correct, they don't miss much if anything.

 _Of Arabic descent? Or maybe...?_

"Egypt?", He asks randomly, needing to know. He would have thought his observational skills would be failing him now that he's sick and sometimes not even fully there but that doesn't seem to be the case.

The doctor for his part cocks his head as if to ask for clarification.

"You... from Egypt?"

"I am, indeed. At some later point I would very much like to ask how you knew but for now I should concentrate on work. We wouldn't want your Captain to scold us both, would we?"

Nick grins tiredly in response, taking an instant liking to the man and having that feeling confirmed once again when he adds under his breath:

"Concentrating on work I should, indeed. Sean's scowl is already most fearsome and effective as hell with how he's lurking around in that shady spot by the window."

Now at the latest Nick would have laughed, if it hadn't been for his stomach deciding to start acting up right then. Mumbling an urgent warning he pushes up enough to lean over the edge of the bed, where he knows the bucket from hell is standing, and emits yet another bout of bile and acids. He's helped in some fashion. By the doctor? By Renard? He isn't sure.

He gets on some level that he is being examined now – his pulse and temperature taken, his lymph nodes and abdomen carefully palpated – but the rest eludes him for the time being.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Khaled helps the Grimm settle back on the bed. On the side he notes that Sean has made to move toward them the moment Nick started having problems before reigning himself in and resuming his initial position. A most interesting fact, that he decides to store away for later examination. Right now there is a different bit of examination needed.

He keeps up a low running commentary as he goes, to soothe the restless young man and to keep his long time friend informed.

"His pulse and temperature are slightly elevated but it's well within limits of a normal, if rather aggressive stomach virus. Given what you've told me about his frequent vomiting, I will give him something to stave off nausea for now. You have tried giving him fluids, right?"

"Oh yes, we have. Came back up as soon as they were in."

Renard's lip curls in frustration... or disgust? Maybe a bit of both. It doesn't matter. Sean may act as put upon and aloof as he likes, actions speak louder than a thousand masks. Even those put on by Sean Renard.

One thing stands out in particular: As Sean's GP Amir has attended various matters of the Prince's health, be that the odd bout of flu or an injury acquired on duty. But _never_ in all the years of their acquaintance has the zauberbiest called him to have a look at anyone else. Until now. Until Nick Burkhardt has come along and asked for help. The young Detective has gone under his skin whether he likes to admit it or not.

Khaled keeps these thoughts wisely to himself. It wouldn't do to have his friend spontaneously combust at having his possession of such terrible human weaknesses like care and empathy brought to attention. A small smile steels onto his lips, anyhow, and when he looks down on his impromptu patient, there are gray eyes looking back. Those eyes, for all their difficulty to focus on anything for longer, have a knowing look about them and lying there the Grimm mouths two words that have Amir fighting not to laugh out loud:

"He cares."

 _Oh Sean, you have certainly been right in saying that Detective Burkhardt's observations are spot on. For all your hiding and pretending he has you figured out quite well._

He gives the young man a small wink that for once goes unnoticed by Renard. Not that he isn't watching proceedings like a hawk but then again he is standing by the window while Nick is curled up on his side and facing toward the door.

He resumes their initial conversation as if nothing has been the matter.

"Ah, yes. That's what I thought. I'll be giving him a shot then."

Suiting actions to words the Egyptian prepares an injection, drawing a measure of clear liquid from a small flask into the syringe's body, disinfecting a spot on Nick's right forearm and inserting the needle before he can even twitch.

"Alright, this is going to help with nausea and will make it easier for you to settle down."

 _Hmm. His voice really is like Renard's. Soothing... and deep. I like that... Would like Renard to say something again. Sounds nice... Like earlier._

Nick almost feels like he's floating. Drifting through a fog of exhaustion finally catching up and that anti-emetic doing its work. In league with their main field of application they are known to also induce drowsiness and that's what's hitting the young Grimm full force right now.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Seeing his Detective drifting off to sleep quite suddenly Sean steps over to the bed to get a closer look. Amir catches his gaze and makes a gesture of reassurance.

"This is normal. The last hours have put a lot of strain on his body, so the medication I've given him had an easy time putting him to sleep. He'll need a few days of bed rest and regular, easily digestible meals then he'll be okay. He's young and fit. This stomach bug may have knocked him off his feet but there won't be any serious repercussions."

The zauberbiest nods in understanding, relief coursing through him on a scale that doesn't bear thinking about.

 _Really, Burkhardt. For all the gray hairs you've given me in one evening I should put you on penitentiary desk duty for a month!_

"Thank you, Amir. Is it safe to leave him unsupervised for the time of his sick leave or should I organize someone to watch over him?"

"Having someone look in on him from time to time couldn't hurt but I would wager the worst will be over by tomorrow evening. I'll write out a prescription for oral anti-emetics and dissoluble electrolytes to make up for what he's lost so far, but otherwise he should be fine with rest and a bit of Tylenol, if pain levels become bothersome."

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Renard thanks his friend again, sees him out and returns to Nick's bedside. It's a matter of course. He doesn't even think about it... Okay, he does, but it is with less reluctance and dislike than before.

 _I'm only doing that because Burkhardt is now out for the count. If he were still awake I would be taking my leave and be done with it. Anyway, one last glance cannot hurt. Just to make sure the idiot hasn't gotten into new trouble while I have been downstairs. Yes, that's the only reason._

With this incentive firmly in mind Renard enters the bedroom. Just a quick check in. Just...

The cold and calculating zauberbiest may rather die than admit it to anyone but after gazing down on his Grimm for a moment (and adjusting those trice cursed blankets that always insist on slipping off) he continues to keep watch.

In the end he takes a seat with a huff and settles in for the night.

 _Nick doesn't need to know, does he? I'll be out of here before he even wakes up._

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

For all his clever planning, at some point around dawn Renard experiences a moment of dread, anyhow. Nick tosses and turns. He's starting to wake up in earnest, which would expose his continued presence and not be to the Prince's liking at all. What to do?

Nick is mumbling in his sleep, clearly restless.

Maybe...

Cautiously the Captain places a hand on Nick's shoulder. Rests it there and even rubs patterns with his thumb when that alone doesn't seem to work.

The Grimm scrunches up his face. If in pain or thought Sean cannot tell but before he really knows what he's doing he finds himself speaking in a low murmur:

"Hush, Burkhardt. No need to fuss. Just go back to sleep."

Nick huffs as if in rebellion to his order.

"No sense in defying your superior. You should know that. Sleep."

Sean is fairly sure that it's more the timbre of his voice than the actual words which make Nick settle back down in the end, but who is he to differentiate as long as the final outcome is satisfactory. He makes it home without further mishaps til morning, calls Wu to go check and make sure Griffin is still alive and puts the blutbad up to getting that prescription filled and look after his Grimm friend. Monroe even possesses enough common sense not to ask how Captain Sean Renard has come into possession of a prescription for Nick Burkhardt.

Thank God for small favors.

At 6am the half-zauberbiest leans against the kitchen counter in his home with a smug smile adorning his face. Oh yes, having that bossy clock maker look after Nick is his personal revenge for being forced into this kind of situation.

Let the other man drive Burkhardt crazy with healthy vegan meals, nap times and that special kind of general fussing that hints at Monroe having a slight case of OCD.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

Nick gets through the rest of this hellish bout of stomach flu with relatively ease, although by the end of it he has contemplated chugging Monroe out of his bedroom window too many times to count. Thankfully he's able to vent some of his frustration while talking to Hank on the phone, who has his own bit to tell about a certain Asian being too smothering in his care of him.

When not sleeping, eating or – at intervals – puking, he ponders on that nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He cannot help but think that his delirious wish, that Renard should talk to him again like he's done earlier, has been granted after all.

Not able to shake it off completely he resolves to ask his Captain about it once he's returned to work. Subtly, of course. For now his task is being patient and staying non violent in face of Monroe's mother-henning.

 **GRIMM GRIMM GRIMM**

On Monday morning Nick returns to work, first order of business talking to Renard. He knocks on the door frame and enters at a wink from his Captain.

"Nick, back with us, I see."

Despite resolving not to get embarrassed about what's happened the Grimm cannot help a slight flush warming his cheeks.

"Err, yes, Sir. Hank and I both. I just wanted to report back on duty."

Renard nods and looks like he's content to leave it at that but Nick feels like he should say something:

"And I wanted to thank you. For... you know. Driving me... and stuff."

The half-zauberbiest shows a thin smile that could almost be called teasing, inclines his head and takes up a folder that's been lying off to the side on his desk. Sliding it over for Nick to take he says:

"I did what was necessary. No need to get all chummy. And you can thank me by solving your new case before the Major decides to bite off all our head because we haven't been attending to his _very special friend_ soon enough."

Curiously it is exactly this cool behavior that gets Nick back onto firm, comfortable ground. Trust Renard not to make a fuss about anything. He can certainly work with the man being disgusted by the Major's tendency to put personal favors above making good politics. That is much better than him being disgusted at having to take care of his sick subordinate.

He takes up the file, peruses the facts and forms a first opinion. Looking back up he finds those watchful eyes regarding him expectantly.

"Double homicide with an oil tycoon's 18 year old daughter involved? I can see how that fits the picture of a case better solved quickly."

For a moment Detective and Captain share a grimace of dislike. Cases like these tend to be difficult to navigate and more often than not have dissatisfying outcome.

"Exactly. Don't let these men keep you from bringing the right one behind bars and at the same time act as though you are bending to their every whim. The usual jazz. I am confident you and Detective Griffin will be able to plow through without causing a Portland wide scandal."

In situations like these Nick knows why Renard is such a damn good Captain. What he has said just now hasn't been a veiled threat not to botch up _or else_ , it has been a vote of confidence for their skills and experience. When you were new under Renard's command it took you a while to get it, but once you grew more familiar with the man's ways, you learned to read between the lines.

"Thank you, Sir. We'll do our best."

"That's what I thought. If there's nothing else, you are dismissed."

Nick has already turned to the door when something comes to mind that he's meant to ask about: "One last thing, Captain: How long did you stay, anyway?"

He doesn't specify and Renard's impassive features don't show a single twitch when he replies: "Oh, I left shortly after Dr. Khaled did."

Sounds reasonable enough.

"Ah. I was just curious. Thanks again."

It isn't until he has made his way back to his desk and given their newest case to Hank to have a look that he remembers a short moment of wakefulness on his first sick night. It's been around dawn and a certain ever distanced Royal, who claims to have left early, has talked to him to help him settle back into sleep.

He takes great care not to show any outward sign of his thoughts but inside he smiles because their fearsome, bad ass Captain has taken the time to remain with him til morning.


End file.
